


Breathe, Soldier

by twerkules_mulligan



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Chance Meetings, Consensual Underage Sex, M/M, Memories, Military, Past Underage, Prostitution, Re-Meeting, Repressed Memories, Sexual Content, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-17 07:21:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3520424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twerkules_mulligan/pseuds/twerkules_mulligan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are things Washington has failed to tell Tucker and Caboose about, or even Sarge and Donut for that matter. A lot happened before they left the Feds... things Washington will never forget. In which nightmares are a constant for Wash, and Locus is terrifying, more terrifying than the nightmares. He swears it's nothing at first... but it keeps the monsters away. At least, the ones in his dreams...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1: Giving Me The Creeps

Breathe, Soldier

Part 1: Giving Me The Creeps

Pairing: Locington (Locus/Agent Washington)

A/N: Was meant originally for just smut, but I actually got carried away... again. Locington is a huge ship of mine, so... yeah. Once again, it seems I'm once again torturing Washington, but at least he's more controlled in this, if ya know what I mean (And by that I mean not at all in some ways).

...

"F-Fuck!"

The younger, much less experienced teenager, moved along with the man on top of him, allowing the older boy to take control. All of this was so wrong... but David was sixteen, sixteen and desperate to break a few rules. This man offered him that. David briefly remembered a name for the guy... was it Rufus? God, he couldn't think, much less breathe with the two thankfully lube-covered fingers rocking into his once virgin hole, trying to ease around and find his prostate. Young David did as the man instructed, shifting when he was told, but listening and focusing was getting continuously harder as those seemingly magic fingers did their job. Dave gasped aloud as Rufus's index finger brushed his prostate, making him jerk at once. He'd never felt anything quite like it before.

"Finally," Rufus laughed, smiling down at David, as if he were a little, helpless mouse. "Thought I'd never find it. Are you ready, David?"

David nodded, whimpering a tad as those fingers left him, making him feel empty and hot all at once. Before he could grow too saddened by the latest loss, something much bigger than a finger lightly prodded at his hole, making David grunt, trying to push down and get it in hard and fast. Rufus, or whatever his name was, didn't let David suffer for long, quickly complying and easing his own erection into the pitiful blond's asshole. David moaned as the first thrust rocked him back, his head hitting the headboard of his small bed. Nana wouldn't be home for another four hours, so he didn't hold back as he almost screamed as another thrust damn near made him cum. Rufus was going faster, faster than anything, and David was reaching his peek, especially as Rufus started jerking David's erected dick, making him moan even louder.

"F-Fuck... I'm close!" David warned Rufus, whimpering as he tried to shut his mouth. Yeah, nobody but he and Rufus were home, but still... he had never liked being loud, not at school, not at home, not anywhere.

"Just come," Rufus offered, his tone going gentle as he jerked David harder and faster, his latest thrust making him come himself. "Just let it go, David."

As David finally came, his hot cum splashing in-between he and Rufus, when he heard something like an explosion going off. He opened his eyes minutes later, still panting and worn out, only to see Rufus gone. "Rufus?" He called out, looking around. Why did he feel like this had happened before? It couldn't though, he'd never had sex of any kind up until that point, so how-

He woke up.

...

"Agent Wash?"

"Sh! Sarge, I think he's still sleeping!"

"Of course he is, dumbnuts! Why ya think 'm tryin' to wake his ass up!?"

"But, Sarge!"

"Don't try my patience, boy."

Agent David Cooper Washington awoke with a groan, coming to with a drowsy headache setting in, as well as aches and pains entering other various limbs of his body. Where was he? As he sat up and looked around, Washington became aware of where he was. He was with the Feds, the Federal Army of Chorus to be more specific, and he'd only come to after a short coma the day before. He had a check-up with the Fed's doctor at six AM... but what time was it anyhow? The soldier stood up, instantly regretting it as he felt a very sharp morning wood burn in anguish inside of his codpiece. The man wanted to groan, but held back, keeping a straight face as he faced Sarge and Donut.

"Wash, you're up!" Donut cried cheerfully, smiling down at the man, his helmet discarded while the rest of his armor was on securely. "Doctor Grey wanted us to tell you that you were late, and she wants to see you ASAP!"

"Dammit, Donut!" Sarge cried, smacking the younger rookie on the head, his own helmet already locked on. He and Wash had similar standards when it came to wearing armor. "You didn't even tell 'em 'bout Lopez!"

"Lopez?" Washington questioned, only to remember the Spanish robot a second too late. "I thought they fixed him yesterday, where is he anyhow?"

Sarge would've looked heartbroken by Washington's guess if he'd been unarmored. "Aw, Lopez, my only real friend... they took 'em off 'n said he needed fixin'! Oh, why, why you terrible, forsaken God I once swore was Red!?" He collapsed onto Wash out of seemingly nowhere.

The grey soldier was completely surprised, but soon softened, patting Sarge's backing both awkwardly and comfortingly. "I'm... sure he's fine, Sarge... they wouldn't hurt Lopez, not on our watch." He had comforted his Nana on more than one occasion, but this, comforting an insane war veteran? Wash was clueless as to what to do. "Um... I better go see the doctor. I'll be back soon, 'kay?"

"Okey dokey!" Donut replied, taking Washington's place in hugging Sarge, but he did it with more passion and enthusiasm. "Just leave him to me, Wash! I can comfort any man in his hour of need!"

"Um... thanks, Donut..." Wash muttered, walking off, but not without a noticeable limp in his step, coming from the awful hard-on between his legs.

Oh yes... It was going to be a long day.

...

The grey Freelancer moved quickly down the hallways, figuring out halfway to the main entrance that he had no clue where the doctor's office was. No matter, he could find it on his own! Washington walked more slowly this time, feet echoing in the empty halls, seeing as all of the soldiers were out training or in the mess hall eating. As a few more minutes passed by, Wash became continuously more lost, until he'd wound up somewhere farther off from the barracks. He looked around earnestly, trying to spot anything that looked remotely like a doctor's office, but everything looked so much alike, it was hard to spot any particular landmarks or signs. Sighing, Wash was ready to give up, until a deep voice spoke from behind him.

"Agent Washington, you're up rather late." Locus commented, standing directly behind the Freelancer.

Washington swung around full force, glaring daggers behind his visor at the mercenary. How in God's name had Locus gotten the drop on him? Had to be the invisibility upgrade to his armor, Wash reasoned. "What're you doing here, Locus?"

The mercenary put away his weapon, stepping closer to Wash, a little too close really. "The Doctor asked me to fetch you... you're an hour late for your check-up, Agent."

The no doubt younger man looked away, suddenly uncomfortable with the way Locus was looking at him. "Thanks, I guess." He muttered out, turning towards what he hoped was the doctor's office.

"Other way." Locus explained, without even looking at Washington.

"Oh, uh, I know. Just had to turn around, that's all." Washington fibbed, running past Locus again to another building.

Before he could get away though, Wash was grabbed by the back of his upper-body armor, being yanked backwards by Locus. "Agent Washington, in the future, if you're ever in need of a guide around the camp... I'd be happy to oblige." The mercenary promised, soon letting go, his grip having lingered a bit.

"Yeah, I'll keep it in mind, thanks," Washington lied, walking back towards the doctor's office. "I said it before and I'll say it again, Locus; you aren't my friend." The Freelancer stated, turning to glare again at Locus.

Locus simply nodded, pulling out his Saw once more, walking away. "I've never wanted to befriend you, Agent." He muttered, like he hadn't been planing on saying it but said it anyways, before disappearing once more from the man's vision.

Wash shivered, shaking his head. "And I thought I was melodramatic... creepy motherfucker." He muttered, running off again to find Dr. Grey and get his stupid check-up over with.

...

"Great to see you showed up, Agent Washington," Emily Grey greeted, looking none too happy at her patient's lateness. "I'll need you to strip out of your armor now and sit on the bed, please."

"But, I-" It felt odd somewhere in Washington's mind that he spoke up, but hey, he wasn't about to just show his body to anybody. Of course, if he had ready expected to avoid this, he would've just never shown up. "Are you sure we need to-"

"Agent Washington," Wash heard a certain amount of both anger and impatience leaking in Dr. Grey's throat. "You're already very late for your check-up, and I have other patients waiting for me. Please, don't make me get someone to come help." By help, Wash could deduce she meant have someone come and manhandle him out of his armor.

Washington tried not to make any smartass retorts as he finally started to pull off his armor, minding the doctor's steady gaze on his person. He squirmed a bit under that look, reminding himself that she was a doctor, one who he could trust in looking at his body. The thing was, the only people who'd ever seen him naked were his long since dead parents, his Nana, the prostitute he'd hired at sixteen to fuck him senseless and good, Maine, The Director (He'd screamed that time), and Carolina (Again, screamed). That was quite the list, but Wash still felt a certain touch of modesty. He'd always been modest body-wise, rarely talking-wise (He couldn't even count how many times he'd back-talked York or North).

However, he pushed those remaining strands of fearfulness out the window as he found himself only in his boxers and helmet, thinking that he must've looked ridiculous. Emily sighed, smirking though as she forced Washington to sit on a medical fold-out table. "You're more modest than a rookie during his first group-shower." She commented, running her hands over his ribs, making the man stiffen on instinct. "Easy there, tiger," She ordered, voice soft. "I'm not gonna kill you... hopefully."

"That doesn't really help, to be honest," Wash promised, freezing when Emily stopped checking his bandaged sides, hands making a move for the seal-release on his helmet. "Don't... don't do that."

"I need to check your head for any signs of a concussion, as well as review the surgery I did a few days ago." Emily explained, stopping to take her own helmet off. Her eyes were shocking purple, while her hair was a soft auburn color. "See? S'not so bad." She explained.

"I'm not a child," Wash muttered, but allowed Emily to take his helmet away, his arms wrapping around his middle. "Stop talking to me like I'm crazy."

Emily placed Washington's helmet beside the Freelancer, returning her hands to his face, to which Wash tried not to meet her eyes, trying to turn away, only making her irritated. "Oh, stop it, ya big baby!" She ordered, smirking as Wash huffed. "Hold still, I'm almost done."

After what felt like forever, Emily Grey let go of Washington's face, walking back over to her computer, which was set up on her desk idly. She picked up a mic connected to it, clicking it on. "Patient Agent Washington shows signs of past abuse, as predicted. Patient also showed reluctance to follow orders, as well as a shocking amount of modesty. The surgery seems to have been a success, no lasting trauma seems to have come to the neural implants in the patient's neck. On an added note, the patient's eyes are grey/blue, his hair is a suicide blond, and he seems to have some Asian heritage. I have theories that he is a Patch Baby. Finish Recording."

"You do that for every patient?" Wash asked playfully, but didn't make any further moves to unwind before the doctor. He silently pretended that a part of him hadn't internally flinched at the mentioning of Patch Babies.

"It's necessary these days," Emily explained, moving back over to Washington, lifting one of his arms experimentally. "Do you feel any pain in any parts of your body, specifically in your head or neck?"

Wash shook his head. "None that're too severe." He promised, looking away as Emily recorded his reply into her computer. "Are we done yet? I'd like to scout the camp and get a feel for it."

"Of course," Emily replied, smiling at Wash. "You were a... decent patient. Not lollypop worthy, but you did better than Locus ever did." She started saving her computer files. "I'll be seeing you back here soon enough, Wash. See ya then!"

The blond almost asked about Locus's visit, but decided at the last minute that it was better to just keep quiet. The faster he could be in his armor, the better. The man hopped off the table, reclaiming his under-suit, when a knock hit the door. Before anyone could answer, Locus walked in, stopping to stare at Washington. The blond squirmed under the mercenary's gaze, unused to the attention towards his body. Besides, he'd hardly ever been out of armor since Project Freelancer, and just being in his under-suit was enough to make him feel naked before Locus. The Freelancer soon gathered his bearings and started to re-armor, ignoring Locus's still roaming eyes.

"Locus," Emily sounded both mad and stern, which made Wash almost chuckle at the thought of such a young girl challenging a giant monster like Locus. "I told you to wait for me to answer before you just barge in. You're lucky it wasn't Doyle I was checking, he would've fainted! Again!" She crossed her arms, glaring at the mercenary.

"My apologizes, doctor." Locus spoke with a certain touch of sincere apology in his voice, giving Wash the impression that Emily had saved Locus's sorry ass more than once before. "I'll try and remember that next time... the General asked me to bring you this," He handed her a well-locked box, which Emily took quickly and happily. "He seems... hesitant to give it to you."

"Oh, goody!" Emily's once stern demeanor changed just like that, her voice going sweet and adorable once more. "My Grunt lungs are here! I've been wanting to do a few experiments on these puppies for so long now... looks like I've got something to do this weekend!" She nodded at Wash, seeing him fully armored. "You can go now, Agent Washington. Sorry for the wait!"

"No problem." Wash mumbled back, holding his hands up, backing away towards the door very slowly. Emily was acting a lot like Sarge when he got excited about experiments... he wasn't about to find out if she got similar results as the Red Team leader anytime soon. "I'll be on my way then," He decided, walking past Locus, refusing the urge to shove past him or growl under his breath. "I'm going to go check on Sarge and see if Lopez is outta repairs."

Even as Washington left, he could still fell Locus's eyes on his retreating person, making him feel smaller and smaller with each, long, tedious step away from the doctor's office.

...

"We're being separated!?"

Donut sounded, as Washington had expected, terrified and honestly betrayed. He watched the pink soldier with a sad expression under his helmet, desperately wishing it didn't have to go down this way. As it turns out, the Feds had bases everywhere, well, almost everywhere, and they needed Donut, Sarge, and Lopez elsewhere, while Washington was needed there. Wash sighed under his breath, not loud enough for Donut to hear over his panicking, tangible enough for Lopez to process, and sad enough for Sarge to give him a concerned tilt of his own helmet. Wash patted Donut's shoulder awkwardly, like he had hugged Sarge that morning, feeling out of place and unnecessary.

Locus was off to the side, watching the little interaction steadily, his gaze focused mainly on Washington once more, making the grey and yellow soldier uncomfortable as it had beforehand. When deeply thought upon, Wash had wished he could also accompany the Reds, but in reality, he knew damn well knew that he was needed wherever he could assist. Wash was... he wasn't dedicated, not in the way he knew dedication. Dedication is working overtime at a fast-food restaurant to afford your Nana's pills, dedication is signing up for a war your father believed in at the age of sixteen, dedication is joining a project you've never heard of just to make a difference, dedication is protecting the Simulation Soldiers who protected you once.

Protecting the Federalists is not the dedication Washington knows, but it's... something similar.

"Well, if you're all packed... may we be off?" Doyle sounded scared to intervene, as Wash expected, but he could see the evidence of true dedication on his face for the military. Doyle was out of armor, wearing a finely pressed suit, having to leave for a conference in the same place the Reds were going off to. "I hate to rush-" That much was obvious. "-But... we are on a very tight schedule."

"Understood!" Sarge replied, sounding strangely accepting of the whole 'Working for the Feds' deal they had going on. "We'll be ready in just a sec 'ere, General." He turned to Donut, taking Wash's place in patting his back. "Come on, son." He ordered softly, guiding him away from the Freelancer. "Let's get'a goin'."

"*Sniff* Do we have to, Sarge?" Donut begged to know, hiccuping lightly into his armored arm, hunched over as he looked up for confirmation to Sarge. When his leader finally nodded, he looked to Wash, his fear apparent, even with his armor on. "Bye, Wash." He mumbled, walking away.

"We'll be back sooner than ya think!" Sarge promised, nodding at Wash. As usual, he was reading everyone like a book. "Keep my shotgun clean while 'm gone, ya here?"

"Uh..." Doyle spoke up, fidgeting behind the Sargent. "I do believe you are permitted to bring your, er, shotgun. However, I also believe that close-combat weapons would n-" Without even hearing Doyle all the way through, Sarge was long gone, off to get his shotgun. "At least we can expect him to, um, inspire our soldiers?" He offered, slowly walking away. "Come along then, we must be on our way!"

Donut followed along with Lopez, both giving Wash one last, long look. "I'll be fine." Washington promised, waving at the two Reds, now turned three as Sarge regrouped at record time. "You guys get those soldiers trained so we can get our friends back sooner."

With that, Sarge, Donut, and Lopez were led out of the Federalist base, and into a Warthog with Doyle. Wash sighed, before Locus loomed behind him, a heavy hand coming to rest on his shoulder. "They will be fine, Agent." Locus promised, but it almost sounded like a guarantee, like he could control their protection somehow.

Wash brushed Locus off, glaring at the green and black mercenary. "I don't need your comfort, Locus." He spat out, storming off, only to be stopped again by the larger man.

"If you're ever in need of my... assistance-" Washington was smart enough to catch what Locus was throwing at him. "Feel free to come visit me after hours." Locus walked off after that, leaving Wash to drown in his worries.

...

To Be Continued...

A/N: Again, I'm fairly inexperienced with writing slash fanfictions, so please, keep that in mind! Please R&R, and have a nice day!

~CabooseHeart.


	2. Part 2: Assistance

Breathe, Soldier

Part 2: Assistance

Pairing: Locington (Locus/Agent Washington)

A/N: I got nothing but the story ahead! Please R&R!

...

The sound of the chilling rain flooded the Federal campsite, thick, icky swamp raindrops falling like angels with broken wings to the ground, loud symphonies of thunder signaling their downfall and deaths. A young man with blond, dirty hair squinted his grey/blue eyes, the color matching closer to an American Earth storm rather than a Chorus one. The being watched as the dirt beneath his boots gave way to the mud, the dark sludge sticky and clumpy as it gathered grass blades of a bluer color than should be natural. Thunderclaps echoed through the nighttime air, making a long, painful shiver run up the young man's spine, his teeth tightening in fear of chattering, not wanting to look weak.

The being this man feared to look weak in front of stood tall and well-armored by his side, the dark grey and green making his camouflage virtually unneeded as he watched the downpour beside his unlucky companion. The younger man, Agent Washington, wanted to glare at the mercenary standing a head taller than him, but held back, enjoying the chilling silence as long as he possibly could. The Feds had kept him on the move for the last week or so, though he hardly noticed, too busy at his attempts to train the troops assigned to him. They were all fairly bright, but they lacked skill. They reminded Wash of himself during Project Freelancer, of even before then, back when he was a kid.

He'd been a good kid, honest to God he had, but dammit, there were decisions Washington wished he could forget, even now! He remembered a lot of things, some useless, some very important. He remembered finding a stray tabby cat and bringing her home at seven years old, he remembered that same cat dying three years later. He remembered starting an argument with a bully at twelve, and he remembered regretting it seven seconds afterwards. There were, indeed, many things Washington remembered and had forgotten in turn, but the list of forgotten things was much shorter than the things he recalled. Wash sighed, a puff of greyish air escaping his mouth like cigarette smoke leaves a Poker player's lungs.

"Reminiscing, Agent Washington?" Locus asked all too suddenly, making Wash jump, if only slightly, enough for the huge mercenary to spot. "Something tells me I am correct."

"It's none of your business..." Wash insisted, coughing weakly into the humid air, squeezing his eyes shut before opening them again. He hated humidity with a burning passion... a wonder how he survived sixteen years living in Seattle. "Why don't you go patrol? Pretty sure we'll be settling down for the night soon."

"I would only hope so... these battles have been lasting longer." Locus commented, looking upon the camp steadily, SAW loaded in his strong, armored hands, fingers twitching occasionally. Not that anyone noticed.

"I wouldn't know." Wash replied, somewhat bitterly, somewhat thankfully. Depended on what mood he was in when you asked. "I'm wondering when I'll be sent off to the battlefield..."

"Not for a long time." Locus promised, helmet tilted towards Wash, studying his extremely freckled face with a glint of curiosity on his domed helmet. "You remind me of someone, Agent."

"Really now?" It was painfully clear that Washington wasn't interested in what Locus was talking about, his eyes trained on where a rookie was showing a few senior officers a knife trick. "That dumbass rookie, he's gonna chop his fucking fingers off doing that."

"You seem to be quite interested in knives, Washington." Locus decided, and Wash could almost feel that mercenary's fucking smirk. He wondered why Locus would be happy about that. "Have you trained with them before?"

Instead of answering, Washington took off across the campsite, realizing that, yeah, the rookie was totally gonna chop his fingers off in a few seconds if he didn't intervene. Faster than the Flash, Wash was there, snatching the knife expertly from the rookie's fingers, twisting it and making a show of tossing it with a trained expertise. Finally, Washington grabbed it midair after tossing it, slamming it millimeters from the rookie's other hand on the wooden crate he'd been using as a table. The soldiers around them all stared, eyes wide as Wash gave the poor rookie a stern glare. The rookie was Private Eastwood, a poor kid around nineteen who'd been trying to impress the older recruits seconds ago.

Wash snatched up the knife again, holding it gently by the blade, the handle poised dangerously at Eastwood, condensation leaving big, fat, wet drops of swampy rain on the dark mahogany of the handle. "You be damn careful with this thing, kid." Wash ordered, grabbing Eastwood's hand and enclosing the handle in his open palm. "You're gonna cut your fingers off if you use it like that."

Locus watched as Washington walked away, the other soldiers surrounding Eastwood as soon as he was out of earshot, probably to either tease him or gossip about the crazy ex-Freelancer. The same one who'd been performing kick-flips on an old skateboard the day before. "You handled that well." Locus commented, following Wash as the Freelancer continued off from the scene he'd unintentionally made. "Maybe one of these days you'll show me how it's done, David?"

Washington flinched so violently, if anyone but Locus had been watching, they would've called a medic to check him out for injuries. It took a few minutes for Washington to recover, but when he did, he looked more pale than usual, irises big and filled with worry. "How do you know my name?" His voice was dangerously steady, too steady to be sane. "How do you know my name, Locus?" He repeated, more harsh, eyes squinting with the building of hot, magma-like anger. The volcano would erupt if Locus wasn't careful.

"I've known who you are for some time, David," Locus explained, not afraid to trigger Wash by the looks of it. "Or was it Davy that your grandmother called you? I remember you... I remember you very well..." He walked away, removing his helmet enough to show his midnight dark skin, a sly smirk only for Wash. "I have a feeling I'll see you again tonight. Until then, good luck, David."

"Wait!" But Locus didn't look back, clicking back on his helmet, leaving Washington in the soggy rain, the droplets dribbling like spoonfuls of applesauce down the back of his armor.

The grey and yellow soldier stared, his hair a soaping wet mess clinging to his head as the downpour beat upon the ground with a new intensity, signaling for soldiers to get inside. And so they did. Wash stayed. He stayed there for a long time, allowing condensation to form and dribble away like youth over his armor, replanting into the ground to maybe bring new life, only for it to be later destroyed by a new battle or war. The Freelancer soon fisted his piano-built hands, storming off like the possible hurricane above his head, stomping back to where he'd stood with Locus minutes ago, before that rookie had caused him to step forward. He clicked his helmet back on.

Locus knew his name...

Washington walked away, his feet taking him away from the camp, towards where a waterfall was said to be. He could use a shower, he mused, something to cleanse the sick and anger away off of his skin. Anything to make him stop thinking, stop worrying, stop fucking remembering.

Locus knew his name...

The Freelancer started stripping, removing his armor at record speed, mind fishing for a connection, anyone Locus reminded him of from his past. He knew he had the answer. His pointless musing was becoming an excuse to spite it, and maybe find another answer to replace the truth. Washington drowned his thoughts then in swamp water, ignoring the terrible feeling of slime and barely any water slipping over his naked body. He drowned himself in the darkness as he closed his eyes, fingers scrubbing through the suicide blond on his head, trying to scrub away too many lies and truths at once. It continued to rain even after Wash scrambled to shore, ducking under a tree to try and dry off.

Locus knew his name...

...

Not even three hours later, Locus woke up to the sound of teeth chattering. Smirking a bit, Locus flicked on his old fashioned oil lantern, spying the soaping wet bundle huddled at the corner of his tent. Poor Wash, he looked like a stray kitten who'd just crawled out of a river, his siblings not surviving the swim, or the other Freelancers in Washington's case. The mercenary sat up, beckoning Wash over, who, against his better judgement, immediately crawled under the blankets to press up against Locus's warm and pleasing form. Closing his eyes for just a moment, Wash buried his face in Locus's grey T-shirt. Suddenly realizing what was going on, Wash tried to jump back, but Locus's steady arms were already around him, keeping him nice and close to his chest.

"Let me go!" Wash demanded, but he still seemed hesitant to leave the warmth of Locus's cot.

"I don't think I will." Locus decided, petting Wash's ruffled up blond hair tenderly, the locks all damp and unbrushed. "Though, I do think you know exactly who I am... or who you at the very least think I am."

"Rufus-" Wash mumbled, his voice muffled as he went back to resting heavily against Locus. "-You left me that night, ya know."

"Your grandmother would have caught us, David." Locus explained, though he didn't sound very sorry. "Besides, I hardly even knew you back then... you hired me to take your virginity, and I did. It was supposed to end there."

"Then why didn't it?" Washington finally asked, the question being one he'd been fearing and contemplating over the last few hours. "Why didn't you just move on or forget about me, why didn't you just fuck some other guy?"

Locus suddenly had Wash pinned, making the blond gulp, so many flashes of memories. Skin on skin, a lot of sweating, a lot of hushing on Rufus's end, a lot of whining and bucking too. In response, Locus had their mouths meet, tongue pressing into the much younger man's mouth greedily as he took what he'd always seen as his. "My name was never Rufus." Locus mumbled out in-between a kiss, stealing another before returning to his chattering. "It was Luke... and then it was Locus."

"Which one are you right now?" Wash asked, also in-between a kiss, breathing becoming ragged as that boner from about a week ago decided to say, hey, the guy kissing you should know I fucking exist.

"I don't have a personality disorder, David." Locus promised, biting Wash's lip as punishment for the insult on his name. "I couldn't just run around as a prostitute with my real name, now could I? No, I only used Rufus for you... other lovers knew me by different names. Yet, somehow... I always went back to think of you, the shuddering virgin who didn't even know he needed lube."

"I was sixteen." Wash reminded the darker man, attempting to snap a nip at Locus's lips, only for Locus to pull back, making his not even half-hard cock weep. "I wasn't exactly an expert on sex ed."

"You will be when I'm finished with you." Locus assured him, sitting up as he started yanking Wash's clothes off, glad the younger had only come in an old T-shirt and some boxers that had to have been owned by one of the recruits.

Washington complied without complaint, making quick work of getting Locus's boxers and shirt off, until the two were completely naked before each other. Nothing had changed since he was sixteen, besides maybe a surplus of scars, a lot more history, a neural network of a suicidal AI's remains in the back of his skull, too many scars to pinpoint and mention, a larger vocabulary, and a bigger difference in height than before. The natural blond felt a familiar smile creep onto his face, one he hadn't felt in a very long time, not since he'd last seen Tucker and the others. All of that washed away, however, as Locus suddenly handcuffed Wash's wrists to a part of the lousy bed-frame keeping the cot off the wet, dirty, mud-ridden ground.

"The fuck are you doing?" Wash rasped, wheezing slightly in the darkness as the light started to fade, eyes glazed over with pleasure and lust fueling his veins and brain.

"Only what you want me to do," Locus told the younger man, his face unable to be seen from the angle the lantern was at, making Wash squint, yet secretly thank whatever God was out there for sparing him from direct eye-contact with the mercenary. He'd never liked eye-contact, nor bondage.

"I don't want this." Wash assured Locus, struggling until Locus finally undid the handcuffs, allowing the well-muscled blond to sit up, pressing light butterfly kisses to his chest as he worked his way up, a devilish light in his stormy eyes. "I just... I want it simple, alright?"

"If that works." It was very clear that Locus had preferred the bondage route, but dammit all, if Washington wasn't going to accept that... well, fuck, he'd find a way sooner or later.

...

The next morning, Washington woke up in a haze, squinting before he sat up, feeling sticky and gross before it all came back in a heated flash. Locus's hands on his hips, the loud smacking sound of Locus's shaft going in and out of his ass, the stings of hickeys on his neck, and the shivers of an unexpected and almost terrifying orgasm... he got up at once. Breathing hard, Wash began to get dressed, jerking suddenly as Locus clapped a hand onto his thigh, making him swallow hard and slow, feeling both comforted and intimidated by the mercenary's presence and touch. The blond shivered, feeling Locus starting to sit up beside him, his tongue poking and prodding at his freckled skin, up his back, and tracing over his exposed neck.

"Leaving so soon?" Locus inquired, that smirk still in his voice, low and quiet and threatening, yet so soft that Wash wanted to melt. "I believe last night was a mere warm-up."

"We have training." Wash reminded the mercenary, feeling his arousal starting to come to life, but knew damn well that he needed to smother it before he got caught with Locus or got up late. "And we could get caught..."

"We could have very well gotten caught last night, yet we were not. Besides... we have time." Locus promised, looking ready for Wash's okay, ready to pin the suicide blond in a heartbeat. "Interested, David?"

"Later." Washington promised, standing up and forcing his boxers on, but not without a tiny hiss to add to it. "Fuck..."

"In need of my assistance again, Agent Washington?" Locus inquired, looking all too smug as Wash glared at him, a childish pout on his lover's surprisingly young face. He silently wondered how a man Washington's age looked so young, despite all he'd seen and been through.

"I'll be fine." Wash promised, coughing into a closed fist as he adjusted his boxers, knowing damn well that his boner still showed. He'd be the talk of the town by noon. "Can I... borrow some pants though?"

Locus nodded, going through a duffel-bag by his cot, tossing a pair of pants and a belt at the young man. "Hey, Locus?" Wash spoke up, after getting the very large sized pants on, rolling up the legs a bit and tugging the belt on extremely tight. "Can I ask you something?"

The mercenary peered up at Wash, brushing his dreadlocks out of his eyes as he started clasping on his armor, not daring to dress in anything less for training/patrol. "What do you need, David?"

"Can you... not tell anyone about... whatever it is we're doing?" Wash asked, well, more like begged really, but the insistence was there either way. "I'd much rather keep whatever funny business we get into between each other, if you don't mind."

"But of course." Locus agreed, his helmet clicking right back on, that damned voice filter making him sound more alien and less human. "I also would prefer to keep this a well guarded secret."

"Perfect." Wash clapped his hands together, nodding as he started to go for the tent-flap, now fully dressed, but squeaked as Locus suddenly squeezed his ass. "Hey!" He protested, jumping before rubbing at his violated bottom.

Locus only chuckled, leaving the tent before Washington, who gave the inside of the tent one final look, smiling fondly as the memories from last night. Feeling something wet press against his belly, Wash sighed, limping unceremoniously away from the tent. He could only hope his subordinates wouldn't notice...

...

FIN

A/N: Sorry that I'm so vanilla with my slash writing, I'm still trying to get the hang of it! In the meantime, I'll work on getting more work done. Please R&R, I'd really appreciate it!

~CabooseHeart.


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